Liquors that Produce Madness
by aye-aye-captain-swan
Summary: "Emma brought her glass to her lips, letting the cool rum slide down her throat, and then there was a man – a man with dark, dark hair and blue, blue eyes, and, God, he was gorgeous, but he was also so frustrating, so very frustrating, and could she trust him?" CS oneshot starring a cursed Emma in NYC.


"Hey, Red," Emma said, resting her elbows on the woman's desk. "You wanna go out for drinks later? It's been a hell of a day."

The woman looked up from her computer. "You know my name _isn't_ Red, right? Because I don't remember you ever calling me by my real name."

Emma sighed. "Okay, sorry. I guess it's not a very original nickname given… your hair," she admitted, motioning towards the woman's fiery curls. "Alright. Kristen, do you wanna get drinks later at Charlie's?"

Kristen smiled. "That's the spirit. Drinks sound good… should we go straight after work or – ?"

"Maybe we could even sneak out a few minutes early? Michael gave me the absolute worst batch of stories to go through today."

Kristen looked at her warily. "Emma…"

"Please, Red? Please?"

"Fine, fine," Kristen relented. "4:45, Charlie's. Maybe tonight we'll finally find you a guy."

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't need – "

"Kristen, Emma, discussing the manuscripts I asked you to look at, I hope?" Michael asked, coming out of absolutely nowhere.

Emma jumped, grabbing at her chest while Kristen just laughed. "I – uh, yes, sorry, sir, I – "

Michael chuckled. "It's alright, ladies. I just happened to overhear you two talking about going to Charlie's after work. Mind if I come with you? It's been a hard day."

Emma glanced quickly at Kristen, whose eyebrows were raised suspiciously. "Uh, sure. Why not? Meet us here by five?"

Michael gave a full-faced smile that made his eyebrows (and his glasses, as a result) rise upwards. "I'll see you then, Emma. Kristen," he said, nodding his head once before walking back towards his office.

Kristen couldn't hold her laughter in any longer. "I – I think Michael's got the h – hots for you," she exclaimed in hysterics.

Emma blushed despite herself. "Tell me about it. I know."

Kristen's laughter only increased. "It's – it's just too good."

"Look, it's not like he's not bad-looking or anything. If you just took away the glasses – "

"Hm, I definitely think I could get you laid tonight. Maybe you'll get a promotion, too, if you – ah – perform well?"

Emma just glared.

* * *

Michael looked oddly out of place in the dingy bar. Charlie's had never been high-class, so to speak. But Emma didn't need high-class. For as long as she'd been living in New York (even if she couldn't exactly remember how long that had been), she hadn't needed anything extremely formal – after all, she had an eleven-year-old son, and eleven-year-old boys didn't exactly care whether their clothes were made from cotton or cashmere.

So Charlie's suited Emma just fine. It was pirate-themed, which had always made her somewhat happy in a weird way. Michael, however, looked a bit ridiculous in his form-fitting blazer and skinny tie surrounded by all the bar regulars smoking cigars.

"I – uh, I think I see someone I know," Kristen said, gesturing vaguely to the other side of the bar. "I'm gonna go catch up with him. Uh – John! John!" she called, running off to nowhere in particular. Emma could've sworn she saw Kristen wink at her.

"So, um, Emma," Michael began, hands shaking slightly. Emma gave him a small smile. It wasn't like she disliked him. He was cute, nice, smart – she'd be lying if she said she didn't find him somewhat attractive. But he was missing something. What, she wasn't exactly sure, but he just didn't have it; it was as simple as that. "Could – could I buy you a drink?"

"Sure," she agreed, taking a seat at the bar. "Surprise me."

Michael laughed, seeming to gain more confidence by the second. "Excuse me?" he called.

The bartender turned around. "Pick yer poison, captain." Emma did mention this was a pirate-themed bar, right?

"Two rum and cokes, please."

Emma's stomach knotted. "Coming right up, captain," the bartender answered, turning to go get the rum.

"Emma, are you alright?" Michael asked. "You look a little… green."

"I – I'm fine. I've just never really liked rum."

"Really?" Michael exclaimed. "I always took you for a hard liquor kind of girl."

"Trust me, I am," Emma reassured him. "Rum's just always brought back… bad memories or something. I mean, I can't remember even drinking rum before, but something about it just – "

"Here are yer rum and cokes, mates," the bartender announced, plopping them down so that some of alcohol spilled over onto the countertop. "Drink up."

Michael gingerly picked up his drink. "Cheers," he said. "To good memories that triumph over the bad ones."

Emma smiled. "I'll drink to that." The pair clinked cups, and Emma brought her glass to her lips, letting the cool rum slide down her throat, and then there was a man – a man with dark, dark hair and blue, blue eyes, and, God, he was gorgeous, but he was also so frustrating, so very frustrating, and could she trust him? She couldn't, wouldn't trust him, but she should, and _wait a minute_ he came back, he came back for her, but she couldn't trust him, wouldn't _let_ herself trust him, and she needed to focus, but it was hard with those looks he gave her with those beautiful, beautiful eyes and his promises of forever, and _perhaps he would, perhaps he would win her heart_, and, God, she hoped he thought of her every day, _good_, and there was cool metal pressed against her hip, and she could feel warm lips pressed against hers, and they tasted like… like –

"I – I have to go," Emma blurted out, feeling nauseous and dizzy and – and _loved_. "Thanks for the drink. Here," she said, pulling out however many dollar bills at random and placing them on the counter. "I'll see you tomorrow." She didn't even register Michael's utterly lost expression as she walked out, completely consumed by images of this man.

Her head failed to stop spinning the entire cab ride home, and it was only that night when she finally fell asleep after hours tossing and turning could she see straight again because _that man_ was in her dreams that night.

* * *

When she woke up the next morning, one word ran through her mind – _Killian_. _Killian, Killian, Killian_, and _God_ she missed him, wanted him, _loved him_.

But by the time she got out of bed, the man was gone, the name was gone, _everything_ was _gone, _and that day at work, Michael would ask her if she was okay, and she'd furrow her brows and answer that she honestly did not know what he was talking about.

* * *

**A/N: Hope y'all liked it! Thanks a million for reading... this is my first ever fanfic on here, so if you'd leave a quick review telling me what you thought, I'd be so happy! Thanks again! :)**

**P.S. The title is based off a quote by Ambrose Bierce: "Rum, n. Generically, fiery liquors that produce madness in total abstainers."**


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